Sweet Animosity
by stunt girl
Summary: SLASH Tom Riddle/Harry Potter. Tom Riddle sleeps with snakes. Harry doesn't know how to run away. What if you found yourself living in your worst nightmare?
1. This isn't happening

author: Lokakuu  
website: http://www30.brinkster.com/lokakuu  
pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry  
rating: PG-13  
summary: What if you found yourself living in your worst nightmare?  
disclaimer: Everything is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing her characters. No harm intended.  
notes: Thanks to Tracey Lordie for beta.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sweet Animosity  
  
  
Chapter 1: This isn't happening   
  
  
  
_1927  
  
  
Tom Riddle took a nervous drag from his cigarette with slightly shaking hands.  
  
"Look, miss," he began, his voice whiny and high. "Am I not making myself clear enough? I do not want the baby."  
  
"But, sir --"  
  
"I do not want it." Mr Riddle took another drag, keeping the smoke in his lungs as long as he could and closed his eyes. He's throat felt raw from too much smoking. Disgusted, he put his cigarette in the ashtray.  
  
"He is you son, sir. Don't you at least want to see him?"  
  
"Why would I want to see him?"  
  
"Sir, his mother died at childbirth. He's your son, for the love of god. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"  
  
"I'm sorry, miss," Riddle said, looking away. "But I do think that you are only wasting my valuable time. I'm afraid I'll have to leave." He stood up and bowed his head a bit to the young woman. As he walked out of the room his cigarette was left smouldering in the ashtray, its fire slowly dying.  
  
The following day a baby called Tom Riddle was sent off to the orphanage._  
  
* * *  
  
Harry felt sick. He was unable to move, unable to do anything. There was only one thought in his mind: It wasn't supposed to happen this soon.  
  
Ginny's screams had died away, and now she was sitting on her bed, rocking back and forth. Ron was staring at a boy with jet-black hair, who was standing next to Ginny's bed, laughing. Harry had never seen him look so bewildered. Hermione was saying, "What is going on?" She had repeated the words so many times that the question had lost its meaning. Harry's hands gripped the doorframe. His throat felt like sandpaper. No matter how hard he tried, no words came out. It couldn't real, could it? They were safe. Dumbledore was Weasleys' Secret Keeper.   
  
The boy was still laughing his unnaturally high laugh, and the shabby porcelain-dolls sitting on Ginny's bed and desk seemed to be laughing with him.  
  
Hermione went to Ginny, arms snaking around smaller girl's frail shoulders and a hand running soothingly through her hair.  
  
"Ginny," she said. "Ginny. What is going on?"  
  
"I woke up and he was there. He was there," Ginny buried her face in Hermione's neck, and her hands were clutching the other girl hard.  
  
"Yes, but who is he? Ginny. Do you know him?"   
  
Ginny didn't answer. A scared little girl, too afraid to recognise her own nightmares.  
  
"Tom Riddle."  
  
The words were out of Harry's mouth before he even realized that he was going to speak. Saying it made it more real, and cold fear drowned him. His heart was beating too fast, frozen blood running through his veins. Ron hands went to take out his wand from his non-existing pocket, but they only met air. Hermione tensed, holding shivering Ginny tighter to herself. Their screams of terror died on their lips.  
  
Turning around, Tom Riddle looked straight at Harry. He was exactly like Harry remembered him, not a day older than sixteen, wearing a Slytherin uniform. A boy who had escaped from the pages of his own diary. A smile crept over Riddle's lips as his eyes swept over the smaller boy.  
  
"What is going on?" Ron asked, his voice small and trembling, hands twisting the material of his pyjamas.  
  
"I'd like to know that too," Riddle said, still slightly amused. "I found myself sitting here on that girl's bed, and then she wakes up and starts making that god-awful noise. Before that? Nothing." He sounded relaxed and not the least bit worried.  
  
"What do you mean 'nothing'?" Ron asked. He seemed utterly lost, eyes wandering around the room, looking for an escape, only speaking because he wanted to buy more time for them.  
  
"I don't know. I can't remember."  
  
"You can't remember?" Harry echoed. He pressed his nails into the skin of his palms, wishing that he would wake up.  
  
"I can remember a few things. Like my name. And magic. I remember magic. But nothing else."  
  
"I've read about amnesia," Hermione began, ever-helpful, her voice high and panicky. "When a person is..." Ron looked at her, and she trailed off quickly. Silence that followed was suffocating them. Harry could hear his lungs expanding with oxygen as he breathed in and out. Tom Riddle was still smiling.  
  
"It's middle of the night," Harry said, faked calmness in his voice. "We should all get some sleep. We... We'll talk about in the morning." He looked at Ron and Hermione, pleading silently. He had to get out of there. How long had they been in Ginny's room? It felt like forever. Hermione seemed to understand.  
  
"Yes," she said shakily. "You're right, Harry. And we'll have to find a room for him. He'll have to stay here, won't he?"  
  
"Percy's room?" Ron suggested, playing along.   
  
"Percy's room will do fine," Harry nodded. He felt cold and detached as though it had only been a dream. It couldn't be really happening. It wasn't really happening. Next to him, Ron drew in a deep breath.  
  
"Well then. Shall we?"  
  
Riddle followed Hermione and Ron out of the room, smile quivering on his lips like all of it had been a joke. Harry turned back to Ginny and tried to smile reassuringly.  
  
"We'll be back in a minute," he said to her, and Ginny nodded. Harry had never seen her look so pale.  
  
The stairs went up and up and they were never-ending. Tom glanced back at Harry, his eyes sweeping over him, that odd smile still on his face. Harry shuddered. From faraway he heard Ron say that they were there. A key was turned in a lock, and a door was pushed open. The air in Percy's room was stale. The window hadn't been opened since Percy had left, and that had been weeks ago.  
  
Tom sat down on Percy's bed and looked at them, his expression betraying nothing of his thoughts. A muggle clock was ticking on the wall.  
  
"Will you be needing anything?" Hermione finally said, braking the uncomfortable silence between them. Tom shook his head.  
  
"No. Not really. Thank you."  
  
"Right then. I guess we'll leave you to yourself. Call if you want something."  
  
Backing out of the room as quick as they could, trying not to let the panic take them over. Ron closed the door behind them and locked it silently.  
  
"What was that for?" Harry whispered. "He can easily open it. Alohamora, remember?"  
  
"He can't," whispered Hermione back and took the key from Ron, pocketing it. "He doesn't have his wand. Didn't you notice? I'll go and open his door in the morning before he wakes up."  
  
They made their way back to Ginny in silence. She was still on her bed, curled up and looking as frightened as the rest of them. Hermione sat down next to her, and Ginny held her hand tightly, her small fingers leaving marks on Hermione's skin.  
  
"What happened?" asked Ron hoarsely.  
  
"I don't know," Ginny said. "When I woke up he was there. Just looking at me. He was surprised, I think. And I screamed. He started to laugh." Harry shivered and wrapped his arms around himself.  
  
"What should we do?" he asked.  
  
"Owl Dumbledore," Hermione answered immediately. "That's Tom Riddle sleeping upstairs. He's dangerous."  
  
"We can't," said Ron. "You know we can't. We'll get in trouble for sure. The Ministry will find out. They'll expel us. Even Dumbledore doesn't have power over them. You don't want that, do you?" Harry closed his eyes. Ron was right.  
  
All of the wizards were walking down the streets, not looking at each other, terrified about the news of Voldemort's return. Disappearances were reported almost every day in the Daily Prophet, and the Ministry was being suspicious. Rumours were flying around wildly, wizards and witches whispering into each other's ears. Half of them were sure that Harry Potter had killed that charming Diggory boy because he so desperately wanted to win the Triwizard Tournament. The other half thought that he had joined Voldemort. How else could he have managed to escape?  
  
No, they couldn't tell Dumbledore.  
  
"We can't do that, then," Harry said. "Maybe we should send an owl to your parents. Or--" he trailed off, glancing at Ginny before continuing. "Or to Snuffles."  
  
"They are on the missions Dumbledore sent them to. We can't bother them. They told us not to bother them," Hermione said quietly.  
  
"Maybe we could handle this," Harry said, feeling nauseated. "He said he doesn't remember, didn't he? He doesn't even have a wand. He can't hurt us."  
  
"We can't trust him," Ron said. "He could be lying."  
  
"Don't be stupid, Ron," Hermione said. "If he was here to do us harm, he would have done it already. He can't be real, can he? You Know Who is at least seventy. I'm sure we can get rid of him real fast. There are ways."  
  
"And if there aren't?" Ginny asked.  
  
"Then we send an owl to your parents."  
  
Harry spent the rest of the night lying awake and staring at the ceiling. He listened to every single creek coming from upstairs. Ron didn't sleep either. Harry was able hear his irregular breathing.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry and Ron didn't say a word to each other the next morning. They dressed up quietly and went downstairs. Hermione had buried herself under a mountain of books, quickly skipping through them, her fingers gripping the pages too hard. Her hair was even more bushy than usual, and she had bitten her lips until they bled. Ginny was stirring her tea, the spoon going around the cup in useless circles over and over again.  
  
"Morning," Ron said. His voice sounded awkward and too loud. Harry fidgeted nervously, trying to find something to occupy himself with. He picked up a grey feather from the kitchen table and started twirling it between his fingers. On the floor there were many more of them.  
  
"Errol is loosing his feathers," he said.  
  
Ron looked at the owl sitting on the windowsill. It resembled a corpse of an owl a lot more than it looked like a living one.  
  
"He hasn't woken up yet, has he?" Harry asked. "Tom Riddle, I mean." The words got stuck on his tongue, and his voice sounded as though he was choking.  
  
Hermione shook her head without looking up from her books. Harry made toast for Ron and himself, and they swallowed the food down like it had been poison.  
  
"What are you making?" Ron asked, indicating towards a cauldron beside the table. Hermione looked up, frowning, and Ginny took a small sip of her cold tea.  
  
"Nothing. I made Sleeping Draft last night. I have to practise potions this summer. I want to get a better grade next year," she explained. Hermione looked at her with flinty eyes.  
  
"You made a potion, and you didn't mention about it to us last night?"  
  
"It wasn't important. The potion was fine. It was exactly like it was supposed to be."  
  
"You should have told us."  
  
"I told you now, didn't I?"  
  
* * *  
  
_1931  
  
  
"Mum!" cried the little boy, tears pouring down his pale cheeks. "I want my mum!"  
  
"Shush, darling. Your mum can't come."  
  
Tom sobbed. The soft arms around him were suffocating him, and the woman's skin smelled like withered leaves.  
  
"Why? Why can't she come?"  
  
"She's dead, precious. But you needn't to worry. We'll take a good care of you, Tom. Don't cry."  
  
"Dead," Tom repeated. His insides hurt, and he wanted to scream until everything would go black.  
  
"I'm afraid so, love."  
  
Tom's little hands tightened into fists and he bit his lip. The tears stopped leaking. He never mentioned his mother in the orphanage again._  
  
* * *  
  
Tom Riddle opened his eyes. He rubbed his forehead and tried to remember every single detail of his dream. In his mind he heard a child crying.  
  
* * *  
  
The kitchen door was pushed open and Tom entered.   
  
"Good morning," Hermione said, trying to nervously smooth her hair down. "Did you sleep well?" A plastic smile was firmly plastered on her lips.  
  
"Very well, thank you," Tom said.  
  
"Do you remember anything now? Anything at all?" She was clutching her book in her lap hard, her knuckles going white. Tom smiled strangely and glanced at Harry.  
  
"No," he said. "Nothing."  
  
"Oh," Hermione said, trying not to sound pleased. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm sure I'll remember. Soon."  
  
"Do you want breakfast?" Harry interrupted. "I can make you some."  
  
"Yes. Please." Tom sat down next to Hermione and looked over her shoulder to see what she was reading. Hermione shuddered.  
  
"What would you like? A toast? Tea?" Harry asked. The fear from last night was gone, and it was replaced with burning hatred.  
  
"That'd will do fine." Soft voice. Sweet smile. Murdering bastard. Harry clutched his hands into tight fists. He wanted to scream. He wanted to see Tom Riddle bleed to death.  
  
An eagle owl flew in through the open window and landed on Ron's shoulder. Ron took a letter from it and petted its head.  
  
"It's from mum and dad."  
  
"What do they say?" asked Ginny.  
  
"Nothing much. You can read it yourself," Ron said, glancing at Tom.  
  
"Where are you parents?" Tom asked nonchalantly. Harry cut bread, and Hermione focused on her books. Ron looked around helplessly.  
  
"They are on a holiday," he finally said.  
  
"Really," Tom said, eyes wandering back to Harry. Hermione looked up at him.  
  
"We'll look for cures for your loss of memory, but we can't promise anything. We'd take you to a doctor, but the wizarding world is a bit of a mess right now. You can stay here for the time being," she said.  
  
"That's alright. I'm fine here."  
  
Tea spilled over the edges of the mug and burned Harry's fingers. As Tom took it, their hands brushed against each other. Lingering, ice-cold touch. Harry stepped back as quickly as he could, and Tom smiled.  
  
"Thank you," he said.  
  
Ginny watched them with narrowed eyes.  
  
  
  
to be continued  
  



	2. With ice in their blood

author: Lokakuu  
website: http://www30.brinkster.com/lokakuu  
pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry  
rating: PG-13  
summary: What if you found yourself living in your worst nightmare?  
disclaimer: Everything is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing her characters. No harm intended.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sweet Animosity  
  
  
Chapter 2: With ice in their blood   
  
  
  
"No," Hermione said when Harry asked if she needed any help. No. She could manage, thank you very much. He would miss something important, surely he would. She asked, "Harry, don't you realize? This is dead-serious." They needed to get rid of _him_. She was better off on her own, anyway. Harry nodded and left her alone.  
  
The next few days passed in haze. Hermione was constantly reading, going through books about dark arts and potions. She gripped Ginny's arm and made her tell everything about the Sleeping Draft she had made. Was it really fine, that potion? Did anything unusual happen that night? "Ginny," she said. "Virginia. You have to tell me."  
  
They made excuses for Hermione when Tom Riddle asked about her ever-present books.  
  
"She's always like that, always studying," said Ron, and it really wasn't even a lie.  
  
"She's just trying to help you," Harry explained to Tom. "Trying to find out a way to get your memory back."  
  
And Tom smiled, but the politeness didn't reach his eyes.  
  
Ginny tried to capture butterflies inside the palms of her hands, and the air was hot and heavy. Heat wave had washed over England making their sheets get stuck on their skin at night. One evening Tom found a pack of cigarettes from Percy's room. Through the kitchen window Harry watched him suck them down to the filter, smoke curling lazily in the air.  
  
Harry tried to focus on History of Magic and finish his essays, but he couldn't concentrate. Wherever he turned, Tom was there, watching them with a half-smile on his face. Sometimes Harry thought he could see a twinkle of red in Tom's eyes.   
  
"I really don't like him," said Ron one day. "Even if he is sort of harmless. I don't like the way he looks at you, Harry." They were in the garden, lying on the ground, and the sun was slowly burning them.  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly. The silence that had lasted for a few hours had been broken. After Voldemort's return they had been doing a lot of that -- sitting quietly together. It wasn't comforting or nice. There just was nothing to say.  
  
"I reckon Ginny hates him, too," Ron continued. "We all hate him. But she especially."  
  
"That's not hard to understand," Harry murmured. Ron nodded, tracing patterns to the ground with his finger. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. Of course Ginny hated Tom. How could she not.  
  
Ginny had grown up a lot during the summer. She wasn't so shy anymore. The night Harry had arrived to the Burrow, Ginny had come outside after him. She had asked if it was alright, could she possibly sit with Harry for a moment. Harry had nodded and smiled, and she had sat down, a bit too close, her fingers taking a hold of Harry's hand. Through half closed eyelids she had watched him, waiting to be kissed, waiting for anything, really. Harry had felt sick. She had been so sweet and stupidly innocent. She hadn't understood at all. If she had known everything about Cedric and Voldemort, and how all of it was his fault in the end, would she have wanted to kiss him then?  
  
"He looks at all of us," Ron was saying. "Watches and says nothing. Like he knew something. I don't trust him, Harry. I think he is lying; I think he remembers."  
  
"If he remembers, why doesn't he do anything about it?" Harry asked. Ron just shrugged, unsure.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Harry made a sound in the back of his throat, meaningless and pointless, just to end the conversation. He opened his eyes, staring at the sky. One of the clouds looked a bit like the Gryffindor Lion, he thought. He watched as the wind broke it apart.  
  
"Harry. Do you want to go to the village to get some ice-cream?"  
  
"That'd be great."  
  
* * *  
  
_January, 1934  
  
  
She was the first dead person Tom had ever seen. He stared at her, his eyes wide and lips parted, transfixed by her terrible beauty.  
  
Silently swinging back and forth, her body was all pale and her lips were blue. Eyes staring into the distance, unseeing and uncaring. Her feet were bare and she was wearing only a plain white nightgown. Tom could see the blue veins under the marble skin. The blood in them was frozen and unmoving.  
  
Tom wasn't the least bit scared. Reaching out a hand, he touched her leg. It was cold and clammy, just like he had expected it to be. She fascinated him.  
  
He had seen her before, sitting alone in the garden, drowning in her misery. He had watched her once as the bitter liquid poured down her cheeks. She was fine now, Tom though. Her expressionless face was beautiful and peaceful.  
  
She had hanged herself._  
  
* * *  
  
Tom woke up. He was in the living room, sitting in an armchair, which had definitely seen better days, his fingers still holding _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. Tom put the book down and ran his hands through his hair. It was uncomfortably hot inside. He considered going out in the garden.  
  
* * *  
  
When Harry and Ron came back from the village, Harry found Tom sitting under the same tree he and Ron had used as a sunshade only a few hours earlier. Harry noticed that Tom had some book about the Dark Arts in his hands. Tom didn't see Harry until the smaller boy was almost next to him.  
  
"Hello," Tom said, putting the book aside.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Harry sat down next to him, feeling reluctant. He wanted to run away, but that would have appeared too suspicious.  
  
"God, it's so hot out here," Tom said, stretching is arms and legs. "Don't you think?"  
  
"Hmm," Harry murmured, not really agreeing or disagreeing. "I thought I'd go flying tonight. It usually helps."  
  
"You like flying, then?"  
  
"Yeah, I do. I love it. And I play Quidditch, too, I'm the Seeker," Harry fidgeted nervously, glancing at Tom. "How about you? Do you like flying?"  
  
"I don't remember," Tom said softly. Harry clamped a hand over his mouth.  
  
"Oh. I forgot. I'm sorry."  
  
"Harry."  
  
"What?"  
  
"How did you know my name?"  
  
"Er... sorry?"  
  
"When I first..." Tom trailed off for a moment, considering his words. "_appeared_. How did you know who I was? You knew my name without anyone having told you that."  
  
"We've met before," Harry said uncomfortably. Tom stared intently at Harry, a slight smile quivering on his lips.  
  
"Really. Where?" Tom's voice was soft and cold. Harry shivered.  
  
"You know that I can't tell you. Hermione explained this to you, didn't she? Everything will come back to you, I'm sure. You'll remember." Tom continued to stare at Harry for a moment before turning away.  
  
"I'll remember," he said. They sat in silence for a while. Harry could hear Hermione calling for Ginny inside the house.  
  
"They mention you in this book," Tom said, his fingers sweeping over the cover of the book he held in his lap. "Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived."  
  
"Oh really?" Harry asked, feeling ill.  
  
"That was quite fascinating, I have to admit. The baby who stopped the powerful Dark Lord. Everybody must have adored you, Harry. Tell me, do they still respect you as much now that he's back?"  
  
Harry swallowed, not bothering to answer. He glanced at Tom. The older boy was smiling and he had a hungry look in his eyes. Harry had a sick sense of deja vu.  
  
"You must be so famous, Harry. After all, it's quite impressive -- surviving the Killing Curse with only a scar to remind you of it." Tom scooted closer, tilting Harry's chin up, his long fingers barely brushing against Harry's skin. He pushed Harry's hair out of Harry's eyes, revealing the lightning bolt scar. Harry felt Tom's warm breath on his cheek.  
  
"I'm sorry about your parents, though," Tom said. The words were soft and empty. There was no emotion or meaning behind them. Harry tried not to laugh hysterically. It was the ultimate irony.  
  
Tom reached out with his right hand, touching his the tip of his index finger to Harry's scar, tracing it up and down. Harry swallowed. He couldn't remember anyone touching it before. Tom's fingers were cold and hard, and his other hand was gripping Harry's shoulder. It felt wonderful and awful at the same time. Harry wanted to scream. Trembling, he stood up, wrenching away from Tom's greedy hands and ran back to the house without looking back.  
  
* * *  
  
When Tom saw Ginny sneak out after Harry he felt intrigued to follow. It was already dark outside, but it was easy to walk after her -- apparently she didn't make much of an effort to keep quiet.   
  
She walked into the forest, stumbling over roots and bushes until they reached a clearing. She hid herself behind a tree, resting her head against it. Her eyes stared up at the sky, sweet and worshipping.  
  
Tom turned his head up and saw Harry flying in circles in the night sky, the wind whipping his hair around his head, making it even more messy. His thin legs and hands clung to his broom. Ginny sighed and Tom felt a strong urge to laugh. He walked up behind her.  
  
"Little Miss Weasley," he breathed, startling her. She jumped around, fingers curling like claws, reaching out to attack. Tom grinned.  
  
"Oh. It's you," she said with all the naive disgust and arrogance a girl her age could muster.  
  
"What are you doing out here?" Tom wondered, his grin turning meaner. Ginny straightened her back and looked at him, unblinking.  
  
"I could ask you the same question, Riddle."  
  
This time Tom laughed aloud, turning away from her and looking up at Harry.  
  
"He's beautiful alright," Tom murmured and Ginny shot him a look that dripped venom.  
  
"I wonder what he would think if he knew you said that," she said nastily. Tom smiled to himself.  
  
"That's one of the reasons you don't like me, then."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You think that you're in love with him, don't you, little girl?"  
  
"I don't!"  
  
"You do."  
  
"You don't know anything. Shut your face," Ginny hissed, her eyes wet with unshed tears.  
  
"You're in love with your fantasy of the perfect Harry Potter. He will save you all, you think. And you'll be waiting for him. You, his best friend's little sister. You'll stand there with open arms and wait for him to notice you."  
  
Ginny said nothing. She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the dark sky and biting her lip.  
  
"Don't worry. I'm sure he'll come to you one day. He'll defeat the evil like a good little hero is supposed to, and he'll return home and marry the right girl. You'll get to play your part as the dedicated housewife, pretending to have your happily ever after. In the end he will be sleeping next to you until the day he dies. You'll be the last to have him." Tom paused, pushing his hair out of his eyes, licking his lips. "The question is, Ginny Weasley, who will have him first?"   
  
  
  
to be continued  
  
  
  
  
  
thanks to Jamie Roberts (yes, it'll be slash), hermionegranger, Stars that shine for you, maharahja-li-vincent, snouz, Batwings, Fireangle, Princess of Mordor, Obscurus, Chaser-Cya, MercS and MountainDewChika for their reviews.


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